Transformation
by cautiousAlbatross
Summary: Dave and John find that John and drag are a really good combination.


Your name is Dave Strider, and your boyfriend is surprisingly attractive in drag.

The first time he puts on a dress, it's because he lost a bet to you. You make him walk around the block with you, pretending to be your girlfriend. A couple of people even fell for it, at least at first.

"Dave," he whispers, tugging the dress down so it covers his knees, "Can we go back inside yet?"

"Nope," you reply, slipping your arm around his shoulder and drawing him close, "We're going all the way around the block first."

"You're the worst," he says, leaning into you and attempting to hide behind you.

You laugh, and he hides his face in your armpit, trying to avoid the weird looks he's getting. The dress is a floral print fifties-style number, and you've inexpertly stuffed the top. He's also wearing a wide-brimmed sunhat, which has now become slightly dislodged. Overall, you think he's almost painfully adorable.

"We should get you some heels," you say, glancing down at his feet, which are incongruously clad in a pair of white trainers.

"I'm not doing this again," he says, looking up at you with a terrified expression, "It's so embarrassing."

You lean down to whisper in his ear.

"Do it for me."

He blushes and glares at you.

"Not in public!" he hisses.

"I didn't say anything about it being in public," you say, smirking.

"Oh my god, I hate you."

You just laugh, then peck him on the cheek.

"Love you, too," you say, thinking he looks even more adorable when he's embarrassed.

You were half-joking when you told him to do it again, and never expected him to actually do it. You're amazed, then, to walk into your apartment one day and find John lying on the couch, wearing the dress and obviously waiting for you to arrive. You're caught between being amused and aroused, and can't stop yourself giggling a little.

"Hey," he says, propping himself up on one elbow and grinning.

"Oh my god," you say, shutting the door behind you and leaning against it, "You didn't."

"I did."

He looks so pleased with himself that you can't help laughing again. Still smiling, you go over and sit on the couch next to him.

"Jesus Christ, you shaved your legs and everything," you say, running your hand down his shin and shaking your head in amazement.

"It took hours," he says, grimacing, "You'd better appreciate the effort I went to here."

"Oh, I do," you say, stroking his calf, "They're really soft."

He giggles as you tickle him behind the knee.

"This is actually pretty fun," he says, "I mean, apart from the shaving bit."

"You should do this more often," you say, lying down next to him and slipping your arm around his waist.

"Maybe I will."

You grin, then lean in and kiss him.

"Mm," he says, breaking away, "I'm definitely doing this more often."

You laugh and kiss him again.

For the next time, you help him put together a whole outfit, heels and all. You get him a floaty sundress, a pair of high-heeled open toe sandals which he spends several hours learning to walk in, a little cardigan and a flower for his hair. You help him shave his whole body, and do his make-up for him, then re-do it when he tells you that although he might be a dressing up as a woman, he doesn't want the make-up of a drag queen. By the time you've finished, you think that he might pass for a woman – from a distance, anyway.

"I look fabulous," he says, looking at himself in the mirror and striking a pose.

"Sure do," you say, grinning and forcing yourself not to laugh, "It's quite a transformation."

"Let's go out," he says, turning to face you, then grabbing you by the arm and leading you to the door.

"Hey, what?" you ask, "I thought you didn't want to do this in public?"

"Screw that, I look amazing."

You laugh as he links arms with you and all but drags you down the stairs and outside. As soon as you get out onto the sidewalk, you slip your arm out of his and wrap it around his shoulder. He's just the right height for you to put your arm around.

A lot of people stare at John as you walk down the street, and you both find yourselves giggling at every passerby who stops to watch you. You whisper snarky comments about all of them as you strut past, and you have to admit, John looks particularly sassy in his heels.

"She's jealous," you whisper, nodding at a woman shooting John covert glances, "She wishes she could look this good."

"Maybe she's jealous of my hot stud," he whispers back, giggling, "That's you, by the way."

"She should be, I'm seriously hot stuff."

You're both finding it difficult not to collapse into gales of laughter as you make your way to the park. John manages to keep a straight face as you sit next to each other on a bench by the pond and he crosses his legs as elegantly as he can, but loses it when a middle-aged guy with a beard shoots him a startled look and all but flees the park.

"This is brilliant," he says, slipping up beside you and putting his head on your shoulder.

"We should make a habit of it, really," you say, resting your head on his.

"Yes, let's."

You sit there for a long time, watching the ducks and cuddling. As you walk home, you barely notice the strange looks John gets. You're too busy watching him.


End file.
